


Fallen

by soulless_lover



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Breathplay, Choking, Cruelty, Dark, Growling, M/M, POV First Person, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shota, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulless_lover/pseuds/soulless_lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lightning flash that fills the room with blue light delineates his form, a silhouette with coal-ember eyes that burn right through me as he stares, and I know what he’s here for… because when it storms like this, something <i>happens</i> to him, and I’m not sure why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2X6R51JW1xo).

I can’t sleep.

Not because of the storm raging outside; I haven’t been afraid of wind and rain and lightning since I was a very small child, and even the noise doesn’t bother me anymore – I’ve gotten rather used to sleeping through crashing and shouting and gunshots and all sorts of other loud things, given how often my household is either attacked or shaken by minor catastrophes like Bard blowing up another oven. 

Not because of some horror story I read before bed that’s permeating my brain and keeping me from rest, either – despite the popularity of penny-dreadfuls featuring vampires and reanimated corpses and other abhorrent creatures, nothing I read really disturbs me now, because how could a simple work of fiction even compare to the genuine monster standing at the foot of my bed?

The lightning flash that fills the room with blue light delineates his form, a silhouette with coal-ember eyes that burn right through me as he stares, and I know what he’s here for… because when it storms like this, something _happens_ to him, and I’m not sure why. Perhaps it reminds him of the climate of Hell; perhaps the violence of it – the explosive lightning, the rolling, crashing thunder, the howling of the wind – stirs his demonic blood into a wicked froth; perhaps it is because he is a nightmare given form, and storms and nightmares have always been bed-mates; perhaps it is none of these, perhaps it is all of them, and perhaps even he does not know the true reason behind it.

But when the weather is like this, he comes to me, wrapped in shadows and dark dreams and a swirling cold that surrounds me like so much India ink; when he drops his clothing on the floor and flings aside my duvet, all I can see of him is that silhouette, the unholy black shape of a devil masquerading as a man; his eyes drink me up and pin me down; and as he covers my body with his own, I am not afraid.

The hands that so gently button my clothing, wash my hair, and tie my shoelaces tear the nightshirt off of me as easily as if it were only tissue paper; they grip my wrists together so tightly I’m sure to have bruises in the morning; they roughly fondle and molest every part of me as I lie helpless in his grasp like an insect in a trap; these are not the hands of my placid butler in white cotton gloves – these are the clutches of the demon hidden underneath, the _real_ Sebastian, and I am not afraid.

His free hand moves across my chest, plucking at my nipples and harshly tweaking them until I cry out – and then it slides up to my neck, squeezing lightly, until his long fingers are curled around my jaw, his palm pressed to the soft underside as I swallow hard against it. He leans down to me and his cruel voice is pitch-black hoarfrost on the shell of my ear: _I could crush the life out of you with just a little more pressure – I could crush your windpipe, snap your neck with just a twitch of my fingers,_ he says, and he’s right. I’m a mortal human being with delicate bones and soft meat and a weak constitution, as fragile as a china cup, and I’m melting under his tongue like spun sugar.

His smooth, gelid body is in stark contrast to the sweet-scented steam he breathes onto my skin, belying the hellfire burning at his malevolent core; the callous words he murmurs are intended to hurt me, to frighten me, to make me tremble in fear; and although I quiver beneath him just to give him what he wants, it’s only Sebastian, and I am not afraid.

He releases my wrists to spread my legs with a rough shove, and were it any other night, I would use my freed hands to push at him, to defend myself, maybe even to reach for the pistol under my pillow and fire a lead bullet into his chest… but it would be pointless tonight, because the storm outside is raging in his black heart, and I know shooting him would only get me a spiteful laugh and bedlinens covered with his blood.

His mouth closes around my flaccid length, his hair tickling my hipbones and thighs, and as I feel my body responding to his merciless tongue, my hips buck involuntarily; he punishes me for this by taking me in all the way down to the root and sinking one wolfish tooth into the tender flesh at the base, where there will surely be hair one day if I should live long enough to grow up. His teeth are so sharp that it actually hurts very little, but I cry out anyway, and he laps at the blood I can feel welling up there, his chuckle like the rasp of a metal file on a prisoner’s steel shackle.

 _Oh, come now,_ he says, in a low, guttural voice that is nothing like the warm baritone of the butler full of false kindness. _It cannot be so terrible – you are even harder than before._ Each word is a carefully-aimed barb, stabbing at my pride and my dignity and making my face flush with shame – and although I cannot see him in this darkness, his lamplight gaze bores into me and sees all my insecurities, and when he discovers his words have hit their mark, he laughs again.

Using his free hand to lift my hips higher, he plunges his hot tongue into me; I’m bent nearly double, my toes brushing the headboard; his hard shaft is pressed against my back, wet strings of brutish arousal dripping from it to slither down my spine. I want to reach up and touch his hair, to pet him and stroke his head as I normally would… but on nights like these, he bristles at such displays of fondness as if they were the meanest of insults, and so I lie still and keep my hands where they are.

His sinful attentions have me open and moaning like a shameless whore in far less time than I care to admit, and he acknowledges this by thrusting two fingers into me straightaway, without the courtesy of oil or even allowing me to adjust to a single digit first. It hurts a little and I gasp, drawing an unkind chortle from his grinning, fanged mouth, lit by a sudden bolt of lightning that streaks past the window. _Ah, was that painful?_ he asks, licking up the inside of my thigh. _Surely it isn’t the first time you’ve been forced open._ It’s a horrid thing to say, and awful memories I don’t want to recall – especially at a time like this - surge through my mind in a trainwreck of images; and although I close my eyes to shut out the sight of what he’s doing, although I cringe with the dreadful feeling that courses through me, although I am filled with hurt and hatred for him right now, it’s only Sebastian, and I am not afraid.

 _Don’t you look away from me,_ he growls, tightening his grip on my throat ever so slightly, his fingers digging into my jaw. _Look at me, little human, **look**!_ And when I reluctantly obey, his eyes are blazing, glittering gems that seize my gaze and refuse to let me go. _I am not them,_ he snarls, his inhuman voice dark and angry. _Do you hear? I am not them!_

And then I am resting against the tops of his thighs and he’s rubbing the solid, pulsing length of his shaft between my buttocks, up and down, up and down, leaking so much that I’m dripping with it nearly as much as I would have been if he’d used a vial of oil; he’s curling his body over mine and the hand around my neck is pressing me down into the pillows; a bolt of lightning bursts into a violet spark just outside the window; and although the crashing thunder masks it, I can hear the bestial growl that escapes him as he pushes into me, going all the way to the hilt in one unforgiving stroke.

He’s rough, agitated, severe in his lovemaking – and I feel ridiculous even using that word to describe what he’s doing, because this is not any kind of love a human could know, and he is not making anything, he is _taking_ it: taking my body, my breath, my sensibilities. He squeezes my neck even tighter and I’m gasping for air as he pounds into me; his hipbones strike my buttocks with bruising force; his free hand viciously flicks my nipples until they sting and ache and I would be shouting if I had the air to do such a thing; and through it all, his face is just inches from mine, staring, refusing to let me hide.

 _Look at me,_ he commands, his voice a dark, evil blade that slices into my oxygen-starved mind and keeps me conscious even as my vision whirls and fills with dancing points of light, like will-o’-the-wisps luring me into the darkness. _I am not them, I am not them, and you are **mine**! Look at me – look at me, damn you!_

My eyes roll up into my head and everything is fading away, but then he loosens his grip and air fills my lungs in a great whoosh; he’s fucking me so hard the heavy, enormous bed is rocking and the draperies on the posts are swaying; his breath is coming in labored pants and he’s exhaling rhythmic growls with each thrust; and when I whimper his name, he climaxes with a livid roar. At that moment, the storm seems to release its own fury, and in the bright flashes of lightning and shadow that break over us, I see him: his head thrown back, mouth open, his demonic teeth looking so much longer and deadlier than ever, his body trembling with the force of his pleasure.

I expect him to simply pull out and leave me that way, to continue the cruel treatment he’s heaped upon me over the last hour… but when he looks down into my face again, his expression softens and then he is lifting me up with both arms, as gentle as you please, to settle me astride his lap. _Ah,_ he sighs against my throat, kissing the bruises that must surely be there, licking away the perspiration. _I have been so heartless to you tonight, and yet you are still winding your arms about my neck… how forgiving you are, my gracious little lord…_

He wraps a hand around my cock and begins to stroke it; I’ve softened somewhat since his comment about my past, but as he coaxes and caresses and coddles me, I feel myself swelling and stiffening in his grasp, and soon he’s got me just as willing as I was before, the pad of his thumb rubbing slow circles over the tip until it’s wet and slippery with desire and I’m quivering all over.

He purrs sweet, almost affectionate things to me, the coldness gone from his tone; he nuzzles up under my jaw, kisses my chin, my cheeks, the very tip of my nose; I feel him hardening deep inside me again, and then he’s cupping my behind with one hand as he fondles my shaft with the other, and I’m leaning my weight on my legs to raise and lower myself on the length of him.

He unfolds his legs and lies back against the duvet bunched like a pile of pillows at the foot of the bed, and suddenly _I’m_ the one atop _him_ , my hands splayed across his bare chest. _That’s it,_ he breathes into the darkness, his low voice barely audible over the noise of the storm. _That’s it, yes, just like that… you look so lovely when you ride me, Young Master – like a fallen angel._

I’m no angel, fallen or otherwise, and I bristle at the strange compliment, but when I look down into his face, I am so struck by the reverence and devotion I see there that I can’t tell him to shut up or take the comment back; he isn’t just being the sly, silver-tongued bastard he usually is – he actually _means_ it. 

He resumes stroking my shaft, and I gasp softly, rocking above him as he raises his hips up to meet me. _So sweet, so lovely…_ he moans rapturously, his eyes glittering. _My pure, untainted soul… my Young Master… ah, yes, my little fallen angel…_

The pleasure hits me very suddenly and with great force and I am crying out, spattering pearlescent droplets over his torso, all the way up to his chest; I feel myself clenching around him in waves of ecstasy; he throbs within me and fills me with his seed again; and as I go limp from exhaustion and am about to collapse onto him, he sits up and catches me in his arms, cradling me against him as if I were a precious, breakable thing he fears will shatter if handled too roughly.

He settles us on the pillows, pulling the duvet up with one hand, and holds me to his chest almost tenderly, crooning pleasant, mindless drivel into my ear. He stays inside me a long time, only withdrawing when I tell him to because it’s becoming uncomfortable, and makes no move to leave the bed, even though he’s never stayed in my room overnight unless I specifically requested it. It’s an odd feeling, lying here in his embrace, filled with a warm, glowing relaxation despite the fact that I’m sore and sticky – and it’s surprisingly enjoyable to look up and see him there, his hair like an ink-blot on the white pillow, his lips curving into a soft smile, his skin flushed and damp with sweat.

I order him to sleep, telling him I’ll grant him the luxury just this once, and his smile gets wider. _Young Master is too generous,_ he says, kissing my brow, and he’s right about that, too – because after what he’s done and said this evening, he doesn’t deserve such a kindness. But I don’t really care.

I’ve fallen into his enthralling trap, into _him_ , and I don’t care; I will still flutter around his hellfire gaslight even as it burns me, I will offer myself up to him even as he cruelly pulls off my wings, and I will not care… because he is Sebastian, and I am not afraid.

 

END.


End file.
